Chapter 24
CALLUM
Vas A Quedarte - Aitana
Flustered Alejandra was a sight to behold.
He’d met a very forward version of the brunette in front of him at the wedding—confident, charming, playful. But now? Now she looked... nervous. And it only made her more beautiful.
“How’s your shoulder? Sofia told me you needed to rest after the car ride,” he asked, leaning on the stall divider, smiling gently.
“It’s good,” she replied, even though she winced slightly when she tried to adjust her left arm in the sling.
“After three months I still have problems with it. It’s... kind of annoying. I need help for the most basic things like changing.”
He grinned. “You know you can always call if you need help.”
“Five seconds in and you’re already offering to undress me?” Alejandra shot back with a grin.
There she was.
The spark. The mischief. The no-filter Alejandra he couldn’t get out of his head.
Callum chuckled. “I was just offering a hand. But if you’d rather struggle, I can absolutely stand by and enjoy the show, if it comes to that.”
Alejandra pressed her lips together, trying not to smile. “If it comes to that, huh?”
Callum leaned in slightly, his eyes drifting to her mouth before he caught himself. “Not like I’ve thought about breaking the no contact rule every damn day for the past seven months or anything.”
“You kinda did.”
“And... did you enjoy the books?” he asked, pulling back just enough to keep his hands to himself.
“Yes.” Her face is lit up. “Cleo’s book was amazing, and both the Mabinogion and Maia’s one were really good too. I devoured them in days. There wasn’t much else to do.” Her tone softened. “And thank you. You didn’t have to. It must have cost a lot.”
“When I shattered my knee, I would’ve killed for a care package,” he said, bending down to grab a stack of boxes. “So I figured... maybe you’d like one too.”
“How’d that happen?” she asked, leaning on the counter with her good arm. Her black hair was pushed back with a pair of tortoiseshell sunglasses, revealing ears full of small, mismatched earrings.
“A car accident when I lived in the States.”
Alejandra studied him. “Do you want to talk about it? Or should I stop asking questions?”
He set the box down and ran a hand through his cropped hair—reflex. He’d been so used to having longer hair that the habit stuck.
Her eyes followed the motion.
“I can talk about it. It’s been a long time.”
He returned to the counter, leaning beside her, forearms resting against the cool surface as if grounding himself there.
“I got a scholarship from Harvard University. Swim team. I was good, really good. The goal was the Olympics that year. I’d already won a few World Championships. I’ve always been a better swimmer than accountant, that’s for sure.”
A faint, almost self-deprecating smile crossed his face, but it didn’t last.
“But then a drunk driver hit my car and shattered my knee.” He said it evenly, he had repeated the sentence enough times for it to lose its sharpest edges. “Multiple fractures. Ligaments gone. Surgeries. Months of rehab.”
His jaw tightened slightly.
“I should have been glad I was alive. Everyone kept telling me that. My parents. The doctors. My ex.” He let out a small breath through his nose.
“But at the beginning, all I could see was that I wasn’t going to the Olympics anymore.
That was it. My sole purpose was gone. Done.
No more competitions if I wanted to keep walking properly. ”
He paused, eyes unfocused, replaying all those moments in his head for a brief moment.
“They told me I could go back to swimming recreationally. Light training. Nothing competitive. Not at that level. Not if I wanted to avoid destroying what was left of my knee.”
His fingers tapped once against the counter.
“I finished school. I wasn’t going to throw that away too. But after that, I moved back to the UK for my master’s. Figured if I couldn’t use my body the way I’d planned, I’d better use my brain.”
He looked at her then. She was trying not to show how much it affected her. She kept her posture straight, chin lifted, but he saw it, that flicker in her eyes. Recognition. Grief that wasn’t hers and yet somehow was. The quiet heartbreak that mirrored something inside him.
“I… I didn’t know that,” she said softly. “I’m sorry. That must’ve been really hard.”
“It was.”
“I pitied myself for a long time. Longer than I like to admit. I couldn’t even watch those Olympics. I was supposed to be there. I knew the pool. I knew the lanes. I knew exactly what it felt like to dive in.” His voice lowered. “And I was on my couch instead, with ice on my knee.”
Silence lingered between them, heavy but not uncomfortable.
“But eventually…” He shifted his weight slightly. “I found purpose again. Lamina helped. Building something from scratch. Competing in a different way. It’s not the same—it will never be the same—but I’ve made peace with that part of my life.”
She studied him carefully. “How long did it take?” Almost a whisper, as if afraid the answer might be fragile.
“Years,” he said honestly. “It doesn’t happen overnight. It’s slow. It’s ugly. Some days you think you’re fine, and then you’re not.” A small shrug. “But everyone’s different.”
She nodded, thoughtful, absorbing that.
The sound of footsteps broke the moment as the two volunteers came back, arms full of cardboard boxes.
Callum straightened instinctively, the softness in his posture disappearing, shifting back into something more professional. He glanced at them, gave a brief nod, then looked back at her.
“Listen,” he said, lowering his voice slightly, “I have to go be a teacher to these two for the next couple of hours. I know you said no contact, but—”
“Yes,” she cut him off quickly, almost too quickly, her voice bright with eagerness she didn’t quite mask. “I’d love to do something together.”
He blinked, thrown off. “Who told you I was going to say that?”
“Sixth sense,” she replied with a small, knowing smile. “I’ll be back in two hours, alright?”
“Yes, madame.”
He took her right hand and lifted it to his lips, brushing a gentle kiss against her knuckles.
That was when he noticed the rings.
He remembers her wearing them on her left hand. Thin bands stacked carelessly, golden catching the light when she gestured.
Now they were on her right.
All of them.
His gaze lingered a fraction longer than it should have. He’d watched those fingers do things he couldn’t forget. Watched them curl into his shirt, press against his skin, slide through his hair. Things he kept replaying long after she was gone.
She bit back a smile, clearly aware of his pause.
“See you later, Callum.”
“I’ll be waiting for you, Alejandra.”
She nodded once, smiled, and turned, walking toward the Athlete Zone without looking back.
Callum exhaled slowly, running a hand through his hair.
God bless Sofia. He’d build her a damn statue for dragging him here.